Mental Blocks
by gracefulfallen
Summary: A look at what would cause Lark to loose her temper with Rosethorn. Femmeslash. One shot.


This is a dark little piece I wrote on the plane flight home. I wanted to see Lark loose her temper with  
Rosethorn, and I wanted to examine the circumstances around it. It just ended up much moreintense than I intended it to be.

**Warnings:** There is femmeslash in here. That is, a romantic relationship between two women. If you don't like it, don't read it.

**Rated:**PG-13For... intensity? I dunno. It felt like a PG-13

My thanks to Rosie, my wonderful, amazing, godly beta. She fixed up some of the problems there was with it, and thanks to Gin, for reading it and encouraging me as well.

Constructive Criticism is welcome - tell me if I should fix something.

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Mental Blocks

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"Honestly, Lark, I don't know why you don't just…" 

"We've been over this, Rosethorn." The fact that Lark had interrupted her should have tipped Rosethorn off. "Dedicate Dawnshroud has other, more pressing matters to attend to. Mine is not his only concern."

She sat by the window in the main room of Discipline, using the sunlight to see the delicate stitches she was picking out of the hem of a dress. The sight made Rosethorn swallow, her brow creased with worry. She limped closer, her movements slightly clumsy. She was still sore, though her bandages were gone.

The dress was supposed to be something relaxing – a piece Lark was making for one of her friends from Tharios who was getting married. It was _supposed_ to let Lark continue to do what she loved while keeping her from using her magic and away from cloth she had woven. Dedicate Dawnshroud did not think she was yet ready for magic or weaving again.

Just thinking about the Soul Healer's name changed Rosethorn's worried look into a fully-fledged scowl. "Other matters? Like his research? He barely even looked at you!" She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at Lark. "If you're not going to say something to him, then I will."

Lark sighed down at the thread she was pulling from the gown, her face hidden by the doll the fabric hung on. It really was a beautiful creation – a thing of sheer fabrics sewn over one another, hanging just so… Tricky stitches. Lark had outdone herself, even if it was not of her own weaving. She pulled another stitch out, careful not to tear the cloth. And since when did Lark ever miss her stitches?

"Rosie, it's fine. We have another meeting next week, and I'm feeling – "

"It's not all right! Stop saying it is!" Rosethorn was transferring her anger and frustration onto Lark – they both knew it. Lark stiffened, slowly sitting up. Her golden skin was flushed with an anger she rarely showed.

Rosethorn swallowed, calming herself, and continued. "You hardly eat, you don't sleep, you make mistakes on simple stitches."

"That's to be expecte…"

"You're blocking everyone out, Lark, even me!" Rosethorn cried, the pain, frustration and nerves of the past several weeks emerging. "You won't even look at me! And you just take what people throw at you. Mila! Stand up for yourself!"

Lark met Rosethorn's glare with pained brown eyes, agony in the stiff lines of her body, the angle she held her head. A second echoed through the cottage as a sound – not quite physical, but not completely magical either – Like a rope snapping or string breaking… and with it Lark broke as well.

"No!" The word was more a feral cry than understandable language, and Lark's head whipped around as she collapsed into a crouch, glaring up at Rosethorn through the hair that had fallen over her eyes. "Everyone wants me to change! 'Toughen up, be harder, tell me what's wrong.' And now even you, Rosie! Even you!"

Rosethorn stood in the middle of the room, a rare look of surprise on her face as Lark slowly uncurled from her crouched position, towering over her. Only the mannequin and dress stood between them now, flung to the ground in Lark's sudden rage. Tears poured from Lark's eyes, a mixture of fury and fear on her face, her eyes fierce and staring, unseeing.

"I love you for who you are, Rosie! I accept you, your harsh words to others, your unthinking and cutting remarks towards me. I'm sorry I'm not more like you! I'm sorry I don't stand up to people the way you do, but Rosie, _I'm. Not. You._"

Rosethorn gave a slight gasp of pain as the fabric of her habit, woven and spelled for her by Lark, tightened. She suddenly understood how fourteen bandits felt on the road to Summersea, as they realized that they had provoked the greatest thread mage in the Eastern lands. Understood the terror as their own clothing cut through their flesh and deeper as a terrified woman reacted to seeing the one she loved motionless on the ground, an arrow in her side.

A small cry escaped Rosethorn's lips as the cloth continued to tighten. Soon she would bleed, and then die, just like the thieves.

"Lark…" She wheezed, pleading. As her eyes regained focus, Lark cried out in shock, the color draining from her face. Instantly the cloth loosened, and Lark rushed forward to ease the other woman to the ground, before collapsing herself, sobbing brokenly.

As soon as she could, Rosethorn dragged herself over to Lark, wrapping both arms around her as Lark sobbed.

"Oh, Rosie… I see it every day." She whispered into Rosethorn's shoulder. Her exhausted voice was haunted. "I would do it again if I had to… but… the string… the fabric. It was alive like no other string – as alive as your plants. I made it that way with my magic. An unintended consequence of all that power."

Her voice broke. "We had to burn it, Rosie." She shuddered, her whole body convulsing. "It may have been alive, but it was… twisted. It had a taste for blood, for blood was in its making. And we had to kill it, like a shepherd would a dog that had taken one of the flock. Fire was the only thing that would cleanse it. But Gods, Rosie. It was tied to me. I could feel it die, Rosie, as the fire consumed the magic in it. And it screamed."

Rosethorn held Lark tightly, silent for a moment. She hadn't known – hadn't understood what happened while she had been unconscious. She held Lark, offering the only support she knew how to give. "I love you, always, and I'm here with you, dearest. We'll get through this."


End file.
